Blow the Shofar in Zion...

Photo credit: feedmysheepjerusalem.com

MARCO SOUNDS THE SHOFAR

Israel Pilgrimage—2006

Marco bought a shofar in Galilee—

a long and spiraled Yemenite shofar

made from the horn

of a kudo antelope

With a deep and steady breath

Marco blows its harrowing thunder

over the Mount of Olives

the Western Wall

the Jordan River

and just about every site

we visit in holy Zion

trumpeting its long distinctive wail

to jolt us from our complacency—

Wake up!

Warning all hearers:

Prepare! Repent!

Wake up! Oh Sleepers—

Wake up! and follow the Lord, your God!

Anne brought her tambourine

from New Jersey—

It’s shaped like a Star of David

Colorful ribbons stream

from its six points

Like Miriam, Anne lifts it high

and dances with delight

praising Adonai with worshipful women

from all over the world

as their swirling skirts sweep the ground

It’s Shabbat, in Jerusalem

at the Western Wall

and I bought a tallit in Tiberius—

blue and white like the Israeli flag

with knotted fringes in the corners

to remind me God’s promises are true

a traditional prayer shawl

to wrap snuggly around my shoulders

like God’s loving arms

enfolding me

as I pray

Maude Carolan Pych

On the Road to Emmaus...

Image credit: milfordandrewpastor.com

THE EMMAUS TRIPTYCH

Luke 24:13-35

I. THE UNNAMED FRIEND

Cleopas and friend walked and talked

with lumbering gaits and downcast faces

shining hopes of sweet redemption

dashed and obliterated

They asked of each other the Why question

for if anyone had come to fill those old prophecies

surely it had seemed to be Him

that Jesus they'd come to know

through signs and wonders

that appeared to be miraculous

Their so-called Messiah had been crucified

was dead and gone. Yes, gone, gone, gone!

Even His cold dead body was missing

from the tomb that had been sealed—

He approached them

in the midst of their perplexity

on the road to Emmaus

He walked with them, talked with them

they even felt His fire

but didn't know who He was

and strange as that may seem

how often have I been

the unnamed friend of Cleopas?

I, too, profess to know Him, know Him well

yet fail to recognize Him along the road

II. THE STRANGER

Taking the barley loaf in his hands

the stranger lifted it

Baruch ata Adonai

Eloheynu Melech ha Olam

ha motzie lechem

min ha'aretz

He tore it, offered it, and just as it fell

into reaching grasps

their astonished eyes recognized Him

and in that instant

He utterly vanished from their sight!

Leaping from the table, Cleopas and his friend

stumbled over each other

looking under, over, around and around

knowing even as they did

it was True after all

As they looked at each other

their disbelief became relief

the sweet awakening of a deep Belief

for Truth visited them along the way

joined them at their table, broke their humble bread

They asked each other

Were not our hearts burning

as He talked with us on the road

and opened the Scriptures to us?

Now, blazing temples of Holy Fire

they suddenly knew their once shattered hearts

would never cool again

III. MY EMMAUS

When I first found You, or You found me

I thought I'd go from strength to strength

pinnacle to pinnacle, joy to joy

and so it was for a season

when love was new

then the whirlwind came

thrashing through my world

upending all my securities

leaving me stunned, broken, alone

certain I would die

so I waited for You to save me

waited for prayers pleaded at Your scarred feet

to avail their just reward

for I believed in You, trusted, hoped

Eyes veiled, I couldn't find You

failed to recognize You along the road

Had I believed in vain?

Then You began to speak

not audibly, but  whenever I opened Your Word

Radiance, Glory, Unfailing Love

sprang from the page and became manifest

My heart blazed! I began to shine!

Now, on the other side of sorrow

I dare not forget my burning heart,

Your Glorious Presence

so I abide, remembering

it is You, my Jesus

Who walks with me along the road

Maude Carolan

He is Risen, Indeed!

It's Resurrection Day!!!

Alleluia!

Maude's Easter bread
right out of the oven!

RISEN

It’s Holy Saturday

Dough is rising

on the kitchen counter

filling me with thoughts

of rising

helium balloons

set free

sunrise

over the Sea of Galilee

waking up

rising

soap bubbles

floating skyward

seagulls soaring

fireworks

booming and bursting

jet planes at take-off

rocket ships

with long trails of fire

zooming to the moon

O, but nothing

nowhere

and no one

has ever done it

or will

…like Jesus

Maude Carolan Pych

...Sunday's Comin'!!! Alleluia!

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

I’VE READ THE END OF THE BOOK

Twice I heard Tony Campolo deliver

his famous and rousing sermon

It’s Friday, but Sunday’s Comin’!

at the Great Auditorium in Ocean Grove

He drummed home the point

that everything may look bleak on Friday, but…

come Sunday, it’s a totally different story

Now, I’m not thinking of just any dark and bleak Friday

I’m thinking about the original Good Friday—

thinking the only reason I can bear

to contemplate that good and terrible day

is because I know

a few days later there was

a mind-blowing, miraculous Sunday—

…Resurrection Sunday!

The disciples didn’t have

the advantage I have—

They didn’t understand

life after death

couldn’t comprehend

atonement for sin

just didn’t get it

that their teacher and friend, Jesus

could die upon a cross

for the sins of the world

They didn’t know the future—

Sure, they may’ve read portions of the Scrolls

but they didn’t have the whole wonderful Book

                                             

I do have the whole Book

I’ve read ahead

and studied the pages         

I know what follows

the Good Friday story—

The victorious hope-giving

hallelujah happy ending

I know my sins are forgiven

I know I’m going to live forever

Yes, I know what happened next

and that makes all the difference

Maude Carolan Pych

Good Friday Meditation Poem

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: italianways.com

THE PIETA

After the earthquake

the peals of thunder

the flashes of lightening across the sky

After the curious crowds dispersed

Mary sat in ominous dimness

upon a mound of earth

at the base of the Cross

holding the body

of her Son

She cradled Him

in the hollow of her lap

close to her bosom

as she had

when he was

her baby boy

Mary removed

thorns of mockery

that encircled His forehead

and tossed it to the side

Straining to see in the shadows

she carefully picked

fragments of thorn needles

still stuck in His lifeless flesh

although they couldn’t hurt Him

any longer

With her fingertips

she tenderly closed the lids

over His dark, vacant eyes

and smoothed

the disheveled, matted hair

…then she kissed Him

O my beautiful Son…

Tears flowed

down her face onto His cheeks

mingling with dried blood

With the edge of her garment

she wiped some blood away

John came

and rested his hand

upon her trembling shoulder

He was now her son

She was now his mother

Mysteries

too deep to comprehend

swirled in her mind

like the flap and flutter

of wings and overshadowing

Son of the Most High

and David’s throne

like pregnant Elizabeth’s joy

when the baby leapt in her womb

and the Baptizer himself, when grown

proclaiming his younger cousin

“The Lamb of God, Who

takes away the sin of the world”

and Simeon’s prophesy

that Jesus would be

a Light of revelation

to the Gentiles and the glory

of the people of Israel

Where is the Light?

Where is the glory?

Where is the throne?

Overwhelmed by sorrow

so intense it stabbed her

deep, deep in her inner parts

Mary cried out in anguish

and rent her robe

Was this what old Simeon meant

long ago in the Temple

when he held Jesus in his arms

and said a sword would pierce

my very soul?

O my Son, my beautiful Son…

I cannot fathom the ways of God, but

I do know this cannot be the end

Maude Carolan Pych

Blood Sky, Good Friday, 2014

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Photo credit: jpbrandanophoto.com

BLOOD SKY—

Good Friday 2014, Packanack Lake, New Jersey

“I will display wonders in the sky and on the earth, blood, fire and columns of smoke. The sun will be turned into darkness and the moon into blood before the great and awesome day of the Lord comes.” Joel 2:30-31 NASB

The alarm went off at 3:00 a.m., Tuesday

We went outdoors to gaze at the sky

hoping to get a glimpse

of the first blood moon of the tetrad—

Passover, 2014

It was there, but we couldn’t see it

Dense clouds obscured our view

Blood moon or not, this week is crimson—

I’ve been thinking about blood in the Nile

blood on the lintels

death of the firstborn sons

I bought blood oranges in Fairway, yesterday

Had one for breakfast. It was sweet

Today is Good Friday—

I am meditating upon the atonement

the Cross, the death of my Savior

Now it’s evening—

I’m on my way to the Good Friday service

at the Jerusalem Center in Wayne

As I drive down Osborne Terrace

approaching Packanack Lake

the sky is incredible—amazing—red as blood

fiery red, red like I’ve never seen it before

As the setting sun shines on the still water

the lake mirrors the brilliant crimson firmament

and I can’t help thinking of old Moses

as he dipped his staff into the Nile river

At the Jerusalem Center, the dancers

fittingly extol the Lamb Who was slain, and

Jonathan speaks of the sun setting and rising—

endings and beginnings

and I feel God may be telling me something, or

am I so deeply aware of Him this holy week

that I see Him everywhere

and in every blessed thing

Maude Carolan Pych

Why..."Good" Friday???

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: youtube.com

WHAT'S SO "GOOD" ABOUT IT?

When I was a child

I could hardly wait for Easter

could hardly wait to wear my new spring dress

and the flowery straw bonnet with velvet ribbon streamers

could hardly wait for the basket of marshmallow chocolates

tiny jelly beans and bright colored eggs

to magically appear in my bedroom

compliments of a big white bunny

Oh, the wonders of childhood’s imaginings…

I was glad about the Resurrection, too, of course

But first I had to get through Lent and "Good" Friday

first I had to sacrifice

and give a lot of serious consideration

to Jesus

first I had to think about a nice holy man

dying

a terrible death

upon a horrible cross

and I had to try to understand

that He died that awful death

for me!

I preferred, of course

to think about chocolate, bunnies and bonnets

rather than scourging, thorns

and nails

Good? I thought…

What could possibly

be "Good" about it?

I wanted to call it "Bad Friday"

"Cruel Friday" or

"Why Did God Have To Have It Happen That Way Friday?"

Of course

I was too young to understand…then

Now I realize

a basket-bearing bunny on Easter

cannot be compared to what happened

that particular cosmic Friday

at the Cross

Now I know

what's so "Good" about it

is that it's followed by

that Stone-Blown-Out-of-the-Tomb-Sunday!!!

that Jesus-Was-Dead…But-Now-He-Lives-Hallelujah-Sunday!!!

and that

my brothers and sisters

is very, very, very

Good!!!

Maude Carolan Pych

One Good Friday...

A-Poem-a-Day Until Resurrection Day

Image credit: bibleprophesytruth.com

THE BLACK BRONCO

Good Friday, 2002

Discontented

sad, somewhat guilty…

Usually, I’d have found time

in the afternoon

to sit meditatively

and ponder the significance

of this day

Sometimes I wrote poems

or sat quietly in a church

I might have listened

to a radio preacher

or just sung, soulfully

about the house

that old, haunting hymn chorus

“Oh, how it causes me

to tremble…tremble…tremble”

Eased into the day, holy

with a long, tepid bath

and a little book

about six miracles of Calvary –

Began contemplating the darkness

that fell upon the land

for three hours

but after that

the cares of this world

sent me scurrying helter-skelter

scrubbing the kitchen floor

returning curtains to JC Penney

grocery shopping for Easter dinner

Any meaningful reflections faded

in my slide from Mary to Martha

Returning from an errand, edgy

I was stopped at a light

on Union Boulevard

Don’t know what kind of a car

was in front of me

but in front of that car

was a black Bronco

On back of the Bronco

black on black was

the Crucifixion

Jesus, dying

in utter darkness

His head bent

shoulders thrust forward

like so many paintings I’ve seen

What was this?

After a moment, I realized

it was merely a reflection—

a silhouette cast by the shadow

of a telephone pole

and street lamp…

But it seemed real

I looked at the clock

It was 2:45

I drive up and down

Union Boulevard

day after day

year after year

but it was this day

this hour

this moment of need

He chose

to show me

yet again

all He did

for me

Maude Carolan